


i wanna fall in love tonight

by cherryvanilla



Series: Kiss Me [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-16
Updated: 2010-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-13 05:52:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you going to live your life wondering?" Sequel to crimson & clover (over & over)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i wanna fall in love tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary from Jimmy Eat World.

Arthur had asked for it, sure, but to be honest he didn’t expect it. Not that fast, not braced between Eames’ broad shoulders and cold, unforgiving architecture. He certainly hadn’t expected it to be the best orgasm in as long as he could remember, nor had he anticipated shuddering in Eames’ arms for long minutes after. Frankly, he should be embarrassed but he’s far too involved in the way Eames has him pressed against the sheets of his hotel bed while warm, calloused fingers run up and down the feverish skin of his thighs. He remembers reaching for Eames’ belt after finally coming to his senses against that damn building, remembers Eames moving out of reach and mouthing his neck and saying, “No, I need you in a bed. Yesterday.” And it wasn’t as though Arthur had never thought the words ‘bed’ and ‘Eames’ in the same sentence before, but never with the knowledge that it would be happening sooner rather than later and completely causing Arthur’s senses to experience overload. It had taken entirely too long to hail the cab, and Eames had slipped skilled fingers beneath Arthur’s slacks and palmed the bare skin of his ass while Arthur attempted to not look debauched on the sidewalk.

Eames kissed him the entire time in the cab, the low rumble of the engine drowned out by stuttering hearts and desperate breaths and Eames’ damn hands everywhere while he murmured, “want you to destroy me,” into Arthur’s ear. By the time Eames had stopped talking and they actually got Eames’ hotel, Arthur was beginning to experience performance anxiety.

It didn’t help that Eames was essentially pinning him against the sheets, hands on his hips even though he’d had all these grand notions of Arthur undoing him, whilst Arthur’s brain is stuck on the loop of what Eames did to him earlier. Eames must feel the same way because his fingers are dipping into the curves of Arthur’s thighs, as he marvels, “hottest thing I ever saw, I can’t even..” Arthur’s mouth won’t work and he briefly wonders if your tongue can go numb from too much kissing. But then Eames says, “you’ve filled my jerk-off fantasies for life, Arthur," and the words can’t be described as anything but a growl and the sound Arthur makes when his mouth decides to cooperate can’t be described as anything but a strangled cry.

Eames nudged his knee between Arthur’s thighs and brought their naked skin into full contact. Arthur vaguely eyes clothing scattered along the floor; clothing he has no recollection of them both losing. “Am I the best snog you ever had?” Eames asks, voice intense, hands still moving all over Arthur’s body, every single place he can reach except for his dick.

“You and your Brit lingo,” Arthur gasps.

Eames captures Arthur’s bottom lip between his own, before grinning, “Well I am British, love, and you know you adore it.” Arthur responds by pulling Eames fully on top of him, squeezing every inch of his ass.

“Fuck, why hadn’t we done this sooner?” Eames groans against Arthur’s shoulder blade. Eames talks way too much.

“Because you’re an ass,” Arthur swallows a moan and when Eames responds suggestively, “You love it,” Arthur flushes because Christ, does he. Eames’ ass is firm and utterly perfect beneath his palms and he doesn’t want to let it go.

“No comment,” he says instead and buries his face against Eames’ neck.

“Don’t you go all aloof now. Not after earlier..” Eames growls and pulls on Arthur’s hair so he meets his eyes. “You honestly have no clue what you did to me, do you?”

Arthur can’t process Eames; can’t handle his honest, open eyes and his earnest fucking voice. He just can’t because otherwise he’s going to say ridiculous things in response, things you simply don’t say the first time you fall into bed with someone, so instead he just looks into those damn eyes and says, “I wanna make you come.”

The hand fists in his hair harder, and his mouth is taken in a bruising kiss and when Eames breaks away with a loud smack, the deep rumble of words against Arthur’s lips form to say, “just fucking do it.”

Arthur ducks his head and attacks Eames’ chest, licking and biting his nipples, shifting into a seated position and pulling Eames into his lap. Eames’ hands immediately wrap around his back, palming the expanse of it; Arthur shudders at the touch. Eames’ fingernails are scraping up and down Arthur’s spine and he’s saying things like, “there’s so much I want you to do to me I don’t know where to begin.” Except he’s not saying ‘things like that’ he’s saying **exactly** that and maybe Arthur should never stop kissing Eames if these are the words he’s going to be subjected to; words that are doing things to him that even Eames’ hands and mouth can’t.

“I think I am,” he heard Eames says, when Arthur started to palm his cock and was in the process of licking a long slow line up the side of Eames’ abdomen.

“Huh?”

Eames winced when Arthur bit his nipple again and then pulled him closer to it, “oh hell, your best snog. Wanna be your best shag, too,”

Arthur’s fingers were spasming against the curve of Eames’ hip. “Say fuck,” he whispered. “Wanna hear you,”

“Fuck,” Eames growled into Arthur’s ear, capturing his earlobe between it, and Eames’ skin was sweaty against his hands and his cock was hard but all Arthur could think of was Eames saying, “Wanna be the best **fuck** you’ve ever had, Arthur.”

Arthur kisses him then, hot and hard like Eames had earlier, hands wrapping around Eames’ waist, possessing him. He wants Eames to love this, to drink it in and fill him up. From the sounds Eames is making and the way he furiously fucks at Arthur’s mouth with his tongue, he thinks he’s succeeding. They stare at one another upon parting, eyes wide and wondering. Eames touches his jaw, so softly (hesitantly?), and Arthur’s heart stops. Eames kisses him again, but it’s slower, languid, and when Arthur’s heart jerks back into gear it beats triple time. Eames licks his way behind Arthur’s teeth, slow and sure. Arthur’s fingers clench and spasm on Eames’ biceps. Eames is still exploring Arthur’s mouth like they has all the time in the world and maybe they do because Eames is saying, “don’t wanna stop..” against his lips and Jesus fucking Christ, Eames can’t just say these things.

Alright, maybe they both can’t get enough of one another’s lips but that doesn’t mean Eames would object to said lips elsewhere so Arthur pushes him till he falls backward, legs sprawling, anything, fucking anything to stop Eames from kissing him like that. Like..

Eames’ eyes sparkle with a mix of lust and genuine amusement as he regains his balance, lips curving into a small smile. Arthur crawls between his legs; Eames is practically hanging off the bed and props himself up on his elbows in time to stare at Arthur while he bends his head slowly, deliberately, mouthing the head of his cock. Then his hand touches Arthur’s hair, tentatively, and Arthur’s stomach flips. Arthur takes him in, tongue teasing the head, then inching down, ever so slowly. His eyes never leave Eames’ and the flare of heat in Eames’ eyes and the licking of his lips is too much. Arthur feels Eames’ body tense, hears his breathing grow unsteady. Suddenly, that hand is tangling in Arthur’s hair and he takes him all the fucking way until Eames is groaning, “fucking mouth, your fucking **mouth** ” and the blood is rushing in Arthur’s ears and he’s so hard again it hurts.

Arthur sucks him hard, then teases, pulls off to lick his balls. Eames is thumbing the nap of his neck, panting harshly, broken sobs falling from his lips as he thrusts up into the tight heat of Arthur’s mouth. Eames’ left hand is stroking Arthur’s cheek and it’s the blindly hot when Arthur realizes he’s doing it to feel himself inside. Arthur risks a glance: Eames’ head is hanging off the foot of the bed; his chest is heaving. Arthur feels Eames’ hand tightening around his neck, and then Eames is pulling Arthur back, “no, just. Have to suck you.. while you. Fucking let me..”

Dying, Arthur lets Eames slide out of his mouth, and then Eames is tugging him roughly down, lapping at Arthur’s mouth, licking his way inside, tasting himself. “Fuck,” Arthur barely breathes. Eames repositions them onto their sides and Arthur crawls toward Eames’ feet at the head of the bed and immediately reclaims him. It’s only when Arthur feels Eames’ full lips around him, sucking at the head of cock, that he gasps and pushes forward. Eames simply moans and takes it, takes it all. After that, it’s a furious set pace of hands and hips and tongues everywhere: on dicks and inner thighs and balls, licking up and stroking down, until Arthur’s head spins and his balls rise and tense against his body in anticipation. It’s over seconds later, with Eames moaning, hand thrashing against Arthur’s hip to give warning. Arthur inhales and swallows every drop, licking lazily while Eames works him faster, pulling his hips close. And then Arthur’s gone, gasping hotly around Eames’ sensitive, overheated skin. They lick and breathe and just fucking feel until Eames has Arthur in his arms, and it’s so devastatingly intimate when Eames’ tongue seeks entrance again, kissing him greedily.

Arthur’s practically on top of Eames, kissing him with the sort of urgency that transpires at the commencement of copulation. Eames breaks away from his lips and bites along his jaw. “Christ, I need a fag.”

Arthur nearly chokes and Eames punches him lightly in the abs. “My apologies: cigarette.”

Arthur can’t stop smiling and therefore the bite of his words, “you’re such a cliché,” falls flat. Eames gives him the finger, but lights one for Arthur as well. Arthur quit over a year ago but that doesn’t seem to be relevant in the grand scheme of his universe right now. Instead, he’s content to flop onto his back, inhale deeply, and watch Eames is exhale a ring of smoke and trace patterns absently along Arthur’s shoulder blade. “How did you learn to snog like that?” he asks.

Arthur grins despite himself. “Benjamin Horowitz, Jewish Rec Center, 9th grade.”

Eames’ laugher is loud and bright. “Let me guess, out by the rubbish bins.”

Arthur’s mouth twitches. “Locker room.”

Eames howls and his hand runs down Arthur’s arm, fingertips briefly curling into his before retreating. “He has my eternal thanks.”

Arthur stops himself from echoing the question, even though it’s more relevant coming from him. But Arthur knows Eames’ tales of sexual exploration will be infinitely more exotic and frankly, Arthur’s embarrassed. As if Eames knows what Arthur’s thinking, he leans forward him and then with a strange look on his face says, “My first kiss wasn’t until Year 12.. that’s junior year to you Yanks. Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime.” Arthur tries not to show how off kilter he is because, honestly, how can one person be so wrong? Luckily, Eames chooses that moment to kiss him. Except it’s that damningly slow, heart-stopping kiss again, and when they part Eames says, “I’m never going to get enough of that.”

Arthur simply isn’t sure what that means and he’s too wrecked to analyze the racing of his pulse or to think about what will happen when they leave Prague tomorrow on their respective flights, or how Eames wasn’t kissed until junior year. So he drinks in Eames’ kiss instead and maybe the sensation of their tongues brushing with every stroke feels a lot like free falling and maybe he never needed a damned parachute to begin with.

[end]


End file.
